I turned the old goggle box on the other night and came across a little programme on Fox which involved Richard Branson and a load of young American entrepreneurs wanting to be Richard Branson.
It was one part that thing with Donald Trump, but without the wig; one part Fear Factor, but without the sucking on cow guts and one part Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, but without the oompah loompahs.
You basically had all these aspiring entrepreneurs who had to travel the world with Richard and persuade him that they were the most worthy to win. Mr. Branson trotted about the globe showing the American public what a marvellous capitalist he is and how he was game to dangle off anything high and float around the stratosphere in balloons. He whittled his fawning throng down to two and only one could win the top prize.
To cut a long story short, the person Richard chose received a cheque for $1 million dollars. It was a particularly nice touch that Dick whipped his own chequebook out to reveal one written by his own fair hand and that the money was coming from his own account – allegedly. It was an even nicer touch when he told the guy that he could have all his wordly desires if he risked the $1 million on a coin toss.
The dopey sod spent 45 minutes deliberating over his dilemma and finally came down on the side of the original $1 million. This boy was supreme genius. Dicky was over the moon and told him how he’d have lost all respect for the chap if he’d gone for the heads or tails. The Dickster then put his purple velvet suit and top hat on and basically offered the guy the opportunity to front up Virgin Worldwide. He then threw another $750, 000 at a charitable trust to be set up by the second placed contestant and the winner got to pick one of the others to be his right hand.
It was getting truly mental. And all without an everlasting gobstopper in sight.
So basically, it cost Tricky Dicky over $2 million to expose himself to the American public for two hours. I have no idea if that’s the going rate for prime time Fox time these days.
Anyway, back to Richard’s daredevil antics.
I don’t know whether any of you remember his first major balloon adventure with Pers Linstrand, but my Dad was responsible for testing the whole thing. Now I know it crashed and burned fairly sharpish, but it really wasn’t my Dad’s fault. It also led to my father’s first and only televisual appearance on the subsequent documentary. He was stood there in his little lab coat and uttered the immortal words, ” Up twenty bar pressure!” I’m fairly convinced there was more, but you know how these things work.
Richard also invited the whole family down to a garden party he hosted for all those involved with his failed attempt. However, being the good socialist I was in my formative years, I refused point blank. I had absolutely no intention of sipping champagne and wolfing down canopes with varying levels of the power elite.
These days you can get me to go anywhere for a bag of chips – that’s fries to you Americans.
